Simon and Garfunkel - The Sound Of Silence

Deep in the night，
Thought of The Sound Of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel
Search for the song restlessly on Youtube
Keep on clicking,
listening,
experiencing,
reminiscing ...

Perhaps,
Life is none other than listening to
The Sound of Silence
regardless of its content



Lyrics：

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence.

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence."

reference：The Sounds of Silence

Winter 2010 - arctic oscillation

I have a totally different view about science after this winter, perhaps the whole scientific reality that we subscribe to today is built upon hypothesis and hypothesis only and one day, the whole system will collapse as there proof to be otherwise. Again, perhaps after this winter, we are getting to know the Earth or the causality of atmospheric phenomenon better; to be able to prepare for the future changes better.



Regardless the above mentioned, perhaps the whole theories of greenhouse effect, arctic oscillation … after all are scientific hypothesis that made real to deceive the world. Nevertheless, according to my friend Siao Yian back in Singapore, hypothesis is what keeps us going on with our life. Sometime, I find ignorance is the sole way of maintaining the sanity within our being. Although there is a possibility that we have a chance to peek through the pin hole of disguise, to see the true reality of things, we would somehow retreat back to the comfort zone of ours the very next second; so much of Plato’s cave analogy. Perhaps we are all but being of temporal, seize the days.

Walter Benjamin – Timelessness?

Reading Benjamin is a struggle for me. No kidding. I have to constantly reminding myself that the essay, i.e. the Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, was written before World War II, 1936? It is very hard for me to situate myself in a time frame and social condition that is totally alien to my knowledge or personal experience. Perhaps, it’s not a problem to others but, somehow, I found myself going back and forth, and constantly lost between a time span of seventy years. The words Fascist, trench, gas masks, for example, had become a text book term to me, but the whole idea of films is so real and contemporary, even the movies that Benjamin mentioned (The Gold Rush) has, at some point, become a part of my life experience. However, reading Benjamin is also a pleasant journey. Confusing yet refreshing. The word, aura, for instance (well, regardless of the credibility of such saying and the possibility that I took the word out of its context), reminded me some much of the X-factor that some art teachers I met back in Singapore refer to as the un-assessable element/component within a piece of art work.

The relation between the cult value and exhibition value of an artwork, although was perceived by Benjamin as something exist on two different/contradictive planes, somehow I find no matter how distinct these two values Benjamin attempt to see them as, are actually co-exist as a totality within the game of art today. Visiting museums and galleries has always given me this feeling of a ritual journey. The fact that the viewers are not allow to have any physical contact with the paintings on the walls, for example, really reminded me of what Benjamin said about the (major) quality of a cult image: “distant, however close it may be.” Museum is like another temple of cult, a sacred location for icon worshipping.



“Reproduction; is photography a form of art?” has become such a dated and obsolete question. According to one of my art theory professors back at Pratt, when Jasper John created his Target with Four Faces in 1955, he was bombarded with criticism: two-dimensional and three dimensional art forms do not go together! During her interview with John, she confronted him with the criticism. To legitimize his work, John said the connection between the two is the relationship of sight and site, and hence, she said, the whole world shut their mouths. John indeed opened up a gate way to clear the path up for many future art forms to take shape. Similarly, we do not question the legitimacy of photography as an art form anymore today. But for Benjamin, I guess, he lived in an era where film and photography are still in their infancy, the question became the key to an un-explored territory for him. I find reading Benjamin has awaken the awareness of the habit of not questioning the taken for granted mentality within myself. We were all living in this era so-called the Postmodern where everything in studio art practice has been done and nothing is new anymore, so we think or so I think. However, to think about it, have we really fallen into this immense trap where regurgitations and repackaging is the only solutions for contemporary art making? The answer is definitely a negative one, I hope, but, where is the other way out? Perhaps, we are playing another form of aesthetic game, all together, that will legitimize us an adventure into an unchartered territory. Computer? Internet? No matter what that is going to be, I believe it will be an exciting yet overwhelming one, at least for me, a dinosaur from the previous century.

What do I get from reading Benjamin? A stubborn bearded man, holding tight to his brief case, attempting to cross the borders of time.

Frieze of Life at Sean Kelly, Oct 30 to Dec 3, 2009

I went into the gallery without knowing what to expect. The only thing I know about the artist was that Joy said I will like his works. Who is the artist? Wolfgang laib. His name did not even ring a bell to me.

I cannot recall exactly my feeling the minute I saw the first piece. Perhaps, I sense a connection between my studio practice and that of Laib’s the moment his works came into my awareness. It was metal cones of twelve different sizes placed around the cemented floor in the middle of the room. Around them, tiny hills of rice made up the third element, a transitional agent between two hard-edged, man-made components (the metal cones and the cemented floor). Somehow, I was immediately attracted by the physicality (use of materials and the marrying of natural and manmade objects) of the piece rather than the symbolism and/or narration, if there is any, beyond its materiality. Although I would like to read more into the piece, the much distractive motion going on in the room at that moment left me no choice but to go on to other art works.

The second piece of installation totally blew my mind. In a separate room, right above my head, a wooden shelf runs across three of the walls; on the planks were rows of terra-cotta pots (400 of them, to be exact) filled with ashes resting peacefully and orderly, as if time stay still, eternally. (Actually, I did not really know what was in the pots till I read the press release. The ashes were collected from religious temples near Laib’s studio in India.) I would say the installation was not something that gives people a shocking sensation. It was, in fact, very subtle. Different from the first piece where the viewers play a role of superior beings, I have to literally lift my head to see what was on the shelves. The irony is mundane and banal materials like wood, clay and ash were elevated as something sacred, untouchable. The simple wooden shelves were transformed into a shrine, the terra-cotta pots into urns where ashes of the “deceased” reside. The fact that I was there in the room, alone, somehow adds up to the somber feeling I had toward the whole setting. The installation seems to occupy only a little segment of the room but the fullness of its spirituality submerged the whole space with solemnity. A sense of peacefulness rose from the bottom of my heart and I have the feeling that I want to remain in there forever.

The third piece did not really strike me as much as the second one. A divider separated me from the installation and I only saw a square shape of yellow stuff spread flatly like a carpet on the cemented floor. I guess the barricade not only stopped me from going near the piece but also killed my interest to find out more about it. However, realizing later that it was done by “sift(ing) hazelnut pollen, which (Laib) has been painstakingly collected by hand in the field near his studio in Germany, onto the floor of the main gallery”[1] opens up a total different perspective in reading the piece for me.

Not much was mentioned in the press release about the first piece I saw in Sean Kelly. However, Laib’s use of pollen (symbolizing the origin of life) and ash (symbolizing both the end of life and rebirth) had a much better coverage in the one page article. I walked out of the gallery with the urge to see more and know more of Laib’s. To me, there are too much unknown about the artist and his artworks. However, at the same time, there is a very strong sense of familiarity about what I just saw in Sean Kelly. It is a sense of linkage, to be exact, between my own studio practice and those of Laib’s.

I googled Laib on internet a couple of days later but was very disappointed by the digital reproduction of his other works. Not to mention the constant association I made between his works and those of Joseph Bueys’. Perhaps, if I was there to see the actual installations, in situ, I would have a much better encounter with the spiritual realm that he committed himself to. However, reading about Laib’s studio practice and his philosophy unveiled, to a certain degree, the mystery I have about him. Although much of the articles that I read were not much a different from the other, nevertheless, I do want to extract a paragraph from an article by Margit Rowell:

It is obvious that Laib’s choice of materials and his identification with their seasons, life spans, and essential properties are the manifestation of a philosophy and a way of life in which individual needs, desires, or practical concerns are of little importance. It is as clear that the painstaking attention and concentration which are necessary to control his repeated gestures in order not to violate the materials but to realize their potential purity and perfection are dictated by an extreme spiritual discipline. Thus the works themselves are the manifestation of a relation to and a vision of the world which may be defined as fundamental, holistic, timeless, rather than personal or individualistic, or related to the contingencies of a given historical time or place.[2]

Despite what Rowell said or how Laib intended to have his artworks viewed, I would say knowing where he came from, his commitment to a hermit life style, and his philosophy of being redefined my understanding of his language as well as his studio practice. I would not make an absolute connection between him and Beuys, I would not walk away from his pollen field installation with a total blank in my mind, and I would not view his art works as mere lifeless objects but records of transcendental moments in his life as an artist thinker, a sense of honesty, and a representation of the essence of being.

An interview with Wolfgang Laib on Sculpture Magazine. (http://www.sculpture.org/documents/scmag01/may01/laib/laib.shtml)

Wolfgang Laib at Speronw Westwater, Iowa. (http://www.speronewestwater.com/cgi-bin/iowa/artists/record.html?record=10)

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[1] Press release from Sean Kelly.

[2] Margit Rowell (1989). Wolfgang Laib: Transcendent offerings Wolfgang Laib: Substance as essence. Fundacio Joan Miro, Barcelona Spain, 1989, p. 52-53

On Beauty

天凈沙 · 秋思 (Thought in Autumn)

枯藤, 老樹, 昏鴉,

(Withered vine, old tree, dawn crows,)
小橋, 流水, 人家,

(Small bridge, flowing water, farm house,)
古道, 西風, 瘦馬,

(Ancient passage, west wind, skinny horse,)
夕阳西下, 斷腸人, 在天涯。

(Sunset, the heartbroken one, is faraway)

I learned about the lyric/poem above by Ma Zhi Yuan (马致远) back in high school in Malaysia. Ma Zhi Yuan (c.a. 1255 – 1321), was a poet and a magistrate of the Yuan court. Disappointed with the corruption among the official circle, he eventually left the officialdom and chose to lead a life of exile in the country side. The poem was written during the exile. In the poem he seemed to describe a sunset in the country side. But, what he painted in the poem was more than just a scene of desolation. It illustrated his disheartened state of mind, his disappointment toward the Yuan court and its corrupted official circle.

Of the many Chinese poems/ lyrics that I had learnt in school, Ma’s Thought in Autumn, somehow, struck me the most. Perhaps it is because with only a dozen terms he represented a melancholic picture signified the very context of his time. However, beneath the objective superficiality, it transmitted a sense of sorrow that creeps into our sensibility. Such feeling strikes the readers as a flow of spring water. It is comforting, non-pressuring, and indulging. It encapsulated us with sadness provoked by simple descriptions of a scene at dusk and we grieve for his tragic life, voluntarily. That is the beauty of this lyric.

A similar kind of sorrow was re-portrayed in the movie To Live (活着) by Zhang Yimou (张艺谋). Different from Ma, the ‘hero’ of the movie, Fugui (富贵), is an ordinary person who was trapped within the flow of the drastic social revolutions in China during the first half of the last century. Through the lens of Zhang Yimou, we can see him as a victim who is constantly being situated at the receiving end. He is not out standing. He is someone who easily disappeared in crowd. He goes with the flow yet at the same time he retained a sense of innocence of a simple folk who tries his best to survive the turmoil of history. His life endeavor is best illustrated in his conversation with Youqing(友慶), his ten year old son, during the Great Leap Forward:

“If Youqing does as papa says our lives will get better and better. Our family is like a little chicken. When it grows up, it becomes a goose. And that’ll turn into a sheep. The sheep will turn into an ox.”

Youqing, “And after the ox?”

“After the ox is Communism. And there’ll be dumplings and meat everyday.”

To Fugui, Communism is about a social condition where everyone has enough to feed the family, as simple as that. At the same time, we can sense his optimism about life despite all the difficulties and tragic encounters he experienced due to the change of regime and social and cultural reforms driven by political enthusiasm. Perhaps, we, the audiences, pity him for not having a comfortable life, deprived from materialistic luxury, and being victimized by ideological struggles. Nonetheless, he unfolded to us the bright side of humanity. To me, Zhang Yimou portrayed him as a signifier of the mass of ordinary Chinese people. Life was tough and they have no choice but persevere to live on, with dignity.

So, what is beauty?

It is more than beautiful things. It transcends the superficiality and physicality of beings. It takes many forms and it is insubstantial. It is like spring water that cools us down in the hot summer and warms us in the chill of winter. It is comforting, non-pressuring, and indulging. It shines when we dignified ourselves against all odds. Most importantly, it is omnipresent if we choose to see its presence.